“Oh, he’s been bragging about that, and all your adventures—or rather his—up there, in quite his own style.”
“Well, there was nothing for either of us to brag about in the way we recovered Arlo,” I said. “If the King’s impi hadn’t happened along in the nick of time I own frankly we might never have been able to recover him at all. It was a hundred to one, you understand.”
Again she laughed, significantly, and I read into the laugh the fact that she did not quite accept Falkner’s narratives at precisely Falkner’s own valuation.
“How did Falkner behave himself?” she went on.
“Oh, he was all right. He was always spoiling for a fight and on one occasion he got it. I daresay he has told you about that.”
“Yes,” she said, with the same significant laugh. “He gave us a graphic account of it.”
“Well he has plenty of pluck and readiness, and a man might have many a worse companion in an emergency.”
“It’s nice of you to say that. I don’t believe he was a bit nice to you.”
“Oh, only a boy’s sulks,” I said airily. “Nothing to bother oneself about in that.”
“But was that all?” she rejoined, lifting her clear eyes to my face.